


Pieces of the People  We Love

by janescott



Category: Adam Lambert RPF, American Idol RPF
Genre: Angst, Big Bang Challenge, Future Fic, M/M, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-26
Updated: 2011-05-26
Packaged: 2017-10-19 19:47:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/204565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janescott/pseuds/janescott
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tommy and Adam get together during Glamnation. But Adam's convinced Tommy's a straight boy, killing time. After Glamnation, he breaks up with Tommy and only then realises his mis-step. A year on, and the Aquarius Rising tour is about to begin. Can they find their way back?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pieces of the People  We Love

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Betad by magenta - and oh my god you guys you have no idea what she diddid behind the scenes for me. Literally without her, this fic wouldn't exist. Special thanks also to radiogaga33 who told me to take out the serial killer. She was right. More special thanks to my awesome and amazing artist quinn222 - you have a real eye for exactly what I need. Quinn also came up with the Aquarius Rising tour name, and it couldn't be more perfect for this fic. And thanks as always to my twitter feed, who kept me from completely falling apart.
> 
> Quinn's art post is here: http://quinn222.livejournal.com/900327.html - go check it out!

Adam knows he's made a mistake, as soon as the words are out there. His fingers twitch, like he can reach into the air, and pull them back, make it so they've never been spoken.

But. They're out there, and then there's this weird silence, as Tommy moves around the bedroom, randomly shoving stuff into his messenger bag.

He wants to say something, anything; find the magic words that will take it all back, and make Tommy _stay_.

But all he can do is watch as Tommy goes through the motions of packing.

"I thought ..." Tommy's voice is loud and sudden, and Adam jumps. "Stupid fucking me. I thought - you were going to ask me to move in. Like, you asked me to come over all serious, and I thought ..." Tommy shakes his head as he ducks his head to pull the strap of the bag over it, settling it around his neck.

"I guess you were right," he says without looking up. "We are in different places. I thought -" he hunches a little bit, curling in on himself like he does when he wants to disappear; wants to be invisible in the world.

He looks at Adam then, his eyes wide and shocked. Hurt. And that look, burning on Adam's skin – breaks his stasis, and he starts to move; to speak.

"Tommy ... I - " But before Adam can say anything else – say I'm sorry, or I love you, I didn't mean it – Tommy's moving, turning his back and heading for the front door like he's going to die if he doesn't get on the other side of it and away from Adam.

"I'll, uh, call a cab from outside." Tommy's voice is blank and dazed.

"Tommy, Tommy wait. We should – can we – we should talk." Adam bites his lip down on the babbling that's coming out; trying to cover his words that are out there – the hurtful, horrible words that he had been convinced he needed to say, and now – looking at Tommy's face – wishing he'd never even thought them.

Tommy stills, his hand shifting restlessly on the strap of his bag. "Talk about what," he says, his voice dead and quiet. "You ... don't want me here. You made _that_ clear. You think I'm – what, Adam? What was it? You ... didn't want to get hurt, because you had decided _all on your own_ that I was just a straight boy playing in the gay sandbox. Like you were my fucking – experiment, and you didn't want to get hurt."

Tommy's voice is thick, but his eyes are dry and Adam resists the temptation to take a step back in the face of Tommy's anger.

“That’s fucking bullshit, and if you’d asked before just … deciding, I would’ve told you. I would’ve told you _everything_. All you had to do, Adam, was talk to me, not fucking, I don’t know, bomb _both_ of our lives like this.”

Tommy’s voice ranges from focused and angry to suddenly lost, and all Adam can do is stand there, and take the verbal hits, like barbs straight to his gut.

The trouble was - it had made ... sense. It really had. Adam thought it had just been a tour thing – that they got closer and closer until one hot sticky night in a city that Adam doesn't even fucking remember, and the stage stuff had bled over into the dressing room and then the bus, and then his hotel room and they had, they had _fit_. But Adam reasoned – all the way through those mad, swirling nights of the tour – that it was a false kind of closeness, like the closeness he had shared with Kris on Idol that had faded over time, and that when they got back home and the dust settled, that Tommy would pull away; move on; he'd meet some girl, and put his ... phase with Adam behind him, and Adam hadn't wanted to get hurt like that.

Couldn't go through that level of heartbreak again.

He was _convinced_ he was right – had ignored his friends and family who had insisted that Tommy didn't look at Adam the way he did because of some fucked-up experiment.

 _But Adam had always wondered. There had been a seed of niggling doubt that he couldn't shake, no matter how Tommy looked at him, or how many late nights – burnt out but still adrenaline-fuelled – they spent talking about their dreams and hopes for the future._

 _And being back in LA – back home after the tour; after the crazy ride was over and he could get a little perspective – Adam had been even more convinced Tommy was just ... playing with him._

 _Experimenting. Oh sure – they were always good friends, and the sex was something else, but Adam couldn’t shake the seed of doubt, and he couldn’t bring it up either – his courage failed him every time he tried to talk about it with Tommy. Until, of course, everything came out in a toxic, painful mess of words that can never be taken back._

 _And now ... the truth is staring him in the face. He's fucked up royally, and maybe permanently, and he would give anything to take it back, because the irony is, he's going to go through the heartbreak now anyway that he was trying to save himself from._

 _Tommy's next words burn into Adam's brain, and echo through his dreams for the next several weeks._

 _"I was – I _am_ in love with you, for whatever it's worth now," Tommy says quietly, his fingers flexing on the door handle. "This was never a game to me, or ... an experiment. It was – it is - _real_ , and I thought – you knew that. _

"Jesus, what – what was I doing that made you think I was fucking _playing_?"

Adam flinches as Tommy's voice rises, it's so rare to hear him shout; or see him angry, and it had been one of the things Adam had put in his I'm-Tommy's-Experiment column – the fact that he never really fired up over ... anything (except sex, Adam's brain helpfully supplies, and music, and performing, and … oh god, he’s really fucked up), and now – he's angry, and hurt, and Adam's the one who has put that look on his face.

"I - " Adam bites down on his words, they've done enough damage today. The only thing that's going to come out now are platitudes – he can feel them building in his throat, and he swallows, hard.

"I'll send someone for the rest of my stuff," Tommy says, his voice quiet and then – and then he's gone.

The next few days pass in a kind of a daze. Adam stands and stares at the door for a while, then when it doesn't magically open and reverse time, he moves into his kitchen and sits down on a bar stool, staring at nothing. His phone buzzes after a while and he takes it out of his pocket, staring at the message. He can't understand the words at first, and then his heart twists when he realises it’s a text from his mom, asking if him and Tommy are coming for dinner.

Adam's throat closes over and he has to work hard to push the lump back down again. His fingers are shaking as he scrolls through the numbers, sending _911_ to Danielle. He puts the phone down on the counter, and he waits.

Danielle, thankfully, is one of the keepers of Adam's gate and house codes, and she can let herself in. She's brought emergency supplies: vodka, chocolate, and every chick flick she could find. Adam's only used their emergency code once before, when his heart shattered for the very first time and he truly thought he might not survive.

She takes one look at him and dumps everything on the counter, opening her arms.

Adam holds on to her like a drowning man.

They don't talk for a while. Adam lays his head in Danielle's lap when they – by mutual silent agreement – take everything into the living room and collapse on the sofa.

She strokes his hair and massages his scalp with her fingers, and that feels good. Adam feels himself starting to drift a bit, staring at the clear liquor in his glass on the coffee table.

Danielle waits, drinking her own drink, and lets the silence stretch out until Adam thinks he's just going to fall asleep. And maybe, if he can just fall asleep, he'll wake up and this whole thing won't be real.

"I fucked up," he says, finally, quietly. Danielle reaches down and winds her fingers with his.

"Okay. Tell me about it."

The last time Adam went through a big breakup, he got high; got very drunk and fucked his way around Weho to try and smother the pain.

Now ... he gets drunk. He gets very, very high, with Danielle and Terrance and Neil, who's come to stay. He rambles on, trying to explain what had made so much sense to him a few weeks ago, when he'd broken up with Tommy.

Neil stares at him, his gaze steady and accusing. "What you did," he says, pointing at Adam with the hand holding the smouldering joint, "Is make the decision for both of you. And now you're trying to weasel out of it. Yeah, Tommy might've been straight when you met, whatever. It's a fucking – fucking label anyway, and you can't control who you fall in love with. You didn't even fucking try and make it work."

Adam blinks once, twice ... three times, and has to make a conscious effort to stop blinking, because this doesn't feel like the kind of conversation he should be having when he's high.

"I was trying to – to protect myself." It comes out in a rush of sound and at first he's not even sure that he's said _words_. But then Danielle is curling against him and petting his hair, saying "Oh, honey," and Neil's handing him the blunt back, which means that whatever was in his tone was serious because Neil never gives up the end of a good smoke.

Terrance tips his head on to Adam's shoulder.

Adam drags the last of his smoke into his lungs and holds it for as long as he can before exhaling.

"I didn't know I didn't _need_ to."

After that night, things get ... better. Sort of. Adam's heart still twists in his chest whenever his phone rings, or a text message buzzes, but it's never Tommy.

He sends Dave to pick up the rest of his stuff, that Danielle and Neil had boxed up for him, because Adam can't bear to look. Dave gathers the boxes up, and puts them in the back of his car. Adam stares at them for a moment as Tommy's meagre possessions that had found their way to Adam's house seem to throw Tommy's words back in his face: " _I thought you were going to ask me to move in_."

Adam pinches his nose to head off that particular, unhelpful line of thought and manages to keep his voice steady when he asks Dave "So – how is he?"

Dave gives him the same kind of look that Neil's been giving him and Adam shifts restlessly from foot to foot, feeling like he's being judged in a way he hasn't since Idol.

"He's doing fine," Dave says. And it's clearly a lie, but it's also clear to Adam that Dave isn't going to give him anything else.

"I – tell him - ..."

Dave waits and folds his arms, the muscles in his forearms bunching a little dangerously. He's protective of Tommy, always has been, and Adam gets that, he does, but he still has to bite his bottom lip so he doesn't bite Dave's head off.

"Thanks for coming," he settles for.

"Yeah, well. Anything for Tommy."

And then Dave's gone, and Adam's alone with the voice in his head that sounds way too much like Neil to enable him to sleep easily.

Adam lasts about a week before he tries to call Tommy only to find that he's changed his number. He calls Monte.

"He said not to give it to you," Monte says, calm as always, even with a screaming baby in the background. "And I have to respect that. And before you ask, so do Cam, Isaac and LP."

"What about the dancers, or doesn't he want to talk to them either?" It's childish and stupid and Adam knows that but it falls out of his mouth anyway.

"Funny," Monte says, his voice dry. Lisa says something in the background that Monte replies to, and Adam half-hears a muffled conversation.

"I need to go. But before you call and ask again, no, I'm not going to give you his number and neither is anyone else. Let him be, Adam, okay? He's working it out."

 _Working it out_ turns out to be Tommy carefully cutting Adam off completely. Which is a strange feeling, Adam admits, as he watches Facebook, then Twitter go berserk after Tommy defriends and unfollows him. His feed blows up, Tommy's feed blows up and he's suddenly getting Dms from every single person he's ever followed.

Danielle comes around with wine and Indian food. "Should I say something?"

She frowns as she dips her naan in the rich red sauce in the bottom of the container.

"Would it help?"

Adam picks up his glass and thinks. He sighs and chews at his bottom lip.” No," he says, finally; reluctantly. "I guess it would just make things worse, since the only people who really knew we were together were our friends and family."

"There you go. Let it be. The internet will find something new to focus on in a few days."

"Mmmm," Adam says, non-committal. He seems to have this weirdly long internet life, but he doesn't say that to Danielle who offers a bright smile and kicks his leg under the table, which is her way of saying everything will be okay.

She's right and wrong. The record company, after a few weeks, starts making noises about his second album and Adam's kind of relieved to have something else to focus his attention on, after weeks of complete radio silence from Tommy, fucking insane white noise from the tabloids and interviews where he has to grit his teeth over and over again and say with all sincerity that he wishes Tommy the best for his future.

"That's good," Brad says, hitting the pause button on an E! Interview with Seacrest. "Even I almost believe that."

"Fuck you," Adam says idly, picking at the Thai Brad had brought with him. His friends have developed a strange habit of showing up on his doorstep at critical junctures, armed with food and alcohol, and he makes a mental note to pay Danielle back somehow, because he's pretty sure she's got them on a roster.

Brad rolls his head and gives Adam his best wide-eyed Bambi look, that still twists at Adam deep down. "Honey, that's _always_ on the table."

Adam considers it for 30 seconds before rejecting it. "Too weird?" Brad asks, still apparently able to read Adam's mind. "Too soon?" And suddenly it rears up again, in a way it hasn't since the first week after he'd made the biggest mistake of his life and he's blinking back tears.

"Shit. Adam, I'm sorry, I was just - "

Adam shakes his head and picks up his glass (margueritas this time, Brad's own lethal blend). "It's not your fault. I thought I was, was doing better, but I'm – what am I going to do?"

He's not making any sense, the Neil part of his brain tells him, and Adam mentally rolls his eyes because no fucking kidding.

Brad slides over a little and rubs at Adam's arm, his eyes still wide, but worried now. "You're going to make an album. And you're going to go on a massive, sold-out world tour. You are going to meet someone who, who will love you like you deserve to be loved. But first, you're going to finish that drink, and come out with me."

It's a bad decision waiting to happen, but Adam wipes at his eyes, drinks his drink, and goes out dancing with Brad, Danielle and a couple of other friends. When the pictures of him grinding against Brad and some boy who's name Adam doesn't even _remember_ hit Perez the next day, Adam swears he's never leaving his house again.

"Don't be fucking stupid," Neil says, too blunt and too fucking _early _but somehow he's managed to make bacon and eggs and oh, sweet Jesus coffee, without burning Adam's house down.__

 _"You're single. You're a rock star. You're allowed to go out with your friends and get hammered. It's not illegal."_

 _Adam rubs at his eyes and sits down at the kitchen island, curling his hands around his coffee. "I'd just like one day, just one fucking day, where I wasn't the one solely keeping the internet running."_

 _Neil snorts at that, and slams a plate of food down in front of him. "Eat. Stop flattering yourself, and start making some decisions about the album. Seriously, Adam, I know that - you're still hurting, but you are _not_ going to derail your career over a _boy_."_

If men with hammers weren't doing home improvements inside his head, Adam would point out to Neil that Tommy's actually older than him, closer to knocking on the door of 30, so boy, not so much. He takes one look at Neil's face and takes a drink of coffee instead.

"Why are you still in LA anyway? I thought you would've had enough of me by now. Hightailed it back to New York. Aren't there ... politicians who need to be harrassed or something?"

Neil snorts at that, and sits beside him, attacking his breakfast like it's a personal insult to him. "Always. But they'll keep. It turns out my stupid big brother did something _really_ stupid. I'm still on the studio payroll and Danielle asked me to stay, and I don't know if you've ever tried to say no to her ..."

 _"I did once. When we were 17. I'm still hearing about it."_

 _"So that's why I'm still here. Finish your breakfast, and go get dressed. Lane's coming around today, and I think you have meetings and shit."_

 _Adam obediently eats and finishes his coffee, stealing looks at Neil once in a while._

 _His life took a turn a few months ago that he didn't see coming, that he never wanted to go through again, but he has to admit, he still has a lot to be thankful for._

 _"I'm glad you're still here," he says, as he slides off his stool._

 _"Yeah, yeah. Shower. Clothes. Try not to look like you spent last night slobbering all over someone in some filthy Weho club."_

 _"... ew."_

 _"That's what I'm here for."_

 _About a week in to the process, Adam starts to regret trying to make the album so soon. Everything he listens to, or is offered, or _writes_ is about heartache and that's ... not the kind of album he wants._

"I just – don't want it to be all ... dark," he explains to Monte who's brought his guitar and a thick stack of legal pads around. "You know? I mean – I know that's what's ... happening to me right now, but it's – I don't ..." he trails off and spreads his hands out, relying on his friendship with Monte as his words fail him – again.

Monte nods as he picks out a melody on his guitar. It's something they've been working on, and Adam really, really likes it but it's got the same dark thread through it as all of the stuff he's been working on, or that he's been drawn to and it's getting a little frustrating.

"You'll figure it out. And having a little bit of dark in the glitter isn't a bad thing. I think it could be something really interesting. Like a black thread that runs through the whole thing."

Adam collapses back against the sofa. "Black thread. I like that. Could you write that down?"

"Sure, boss."

Adam leans his head against the back of the sofa, shuts his eyes, and gives Monte the finger.

It's the best he's felt in weeks.

After that, the rest of the songs seem to fall into place. He works on most of them with Monte and Cam; gets a couple of tracks from outside again – Sam Sparro sends him something that Adam doesn't even need to think about including on the album.

When they come together to record, finally, he's mostly happy.

Mostly.

Cam, Monte and Isaac are all there, having made room in their schedules to make this happen with him. They all look around, and no one says anything, but Adam shifts his shoulders, feeling the absence as much – or more – than the rest of them.

He'd been tempted to ask the studio to get in touch with Tommy; ask him if he wanted to be on the album, but Monte and Cam had both advised against it. “He’s working on his and Mike’s stuff, and he just met someone. He needs to work through this without you … looming,” Monte says, squeezing Adam’s shoulder to take the sting out of his words.  
Cam says something about the vibe and how the inevitable tension wouldn’t serve the album that Adam wants to put out, and – reluctantly – he agrees, though he suddenly misses Tommy in a way he hasn’t since the first few terrible weeks after the break-up.

It hurts, because they had talked about it. On tour, on the long, endless nights on the bus; Tommy curled around him exactly like the kitty-cat Adam called him on stage, Adam stroking a hand down Tommy's spine.

With the night rumbling past outside, they had talked, and dreamed, and planned. And now, here’s the plan, coming together with – for Adam – a key part missing.

He sighs, takes a deep breath, and manages a smile that even feels a little real. Because even with that black thread running through the glitter, he's _here_ \- he's in the studio again, ready to make his second album and prove to the world that he's more than just – some kind of novelty act.

He's got good – great - songs, and producers still tripping over themselves to work with him, which still shocks him a little bit sometimes – like somehow he's strayed into the studio and into this life by mistake.

Monte interrupts his reverie, bumping against his shoulder.

"Okay. Let's do this."

Adam swallows, and nods, suddenly nervous. There's a lot more of himself in these songs, and as much as he's not sure if he wants that much of himself laid bare, he knows he's on to something special.

"Let's make a record."

 

And the thing is, the great and glorious and incredibly fucked-up thing, is that it’s a _good_ record. A really good record. Possibly even a great record, but Adam’s not willing to go that far. Not yet.

 _He takes delivery of the CD, and grins like a fucking lunatic, before calling everyone he knows for an impromptu listening party. He’s riding such a high that it takes a second to come down when he realises the message he’s sent to Tommy out of habit has pinged back; number unknown._

 _Adam stares at his phone for a long, frozen second, before he stretches his thumb over the screen, and deletes the number. He takes a long breath, and exhales slowly. It still hurts, even after all these months, but he realises that it doesn’t hurt as much. Time and a busy life have worn at the pain like waves wearing rocks to sand._

 _He wishes that Tommy could be here somehow to share in the celebration, but if it’s not meant to be …_

 _Blinking rapidly, Adam quickly sends a message to the next number down the list, and absorbs himself fully in the details for the party; determined to make it all about celebrating the album, and not about reliving his past mistake – again …_

 _He had forgotten how much _work_ there was. Not in putting the album together. That fed his soul in the way that only music could – in the studio day after day, immersed in the creative process with a group of like-minded people with the same goal in mind. _

 

No; what he’d forgotten was how much work the promo stuff that came after the album was. How very much the same the interviews become after a while – question after question repeated until Adam thinks he’s going to scream, or go mad. But he puts on what Danielle calls his “public face” and answers them as patiently and politely as he can – again and again.

 

He pulls what Monte calls the “rock star” card and refuses to answer any questions about Tommy. When one interviewer won’t let it go, Adam puts on his blandest face and says, “We’ve both moved on, and I wish him all the best,” even as Lane materialises from nowhere and lets the reporter know in no uncertain terms that the interview is over.

 

The process is exhausting, and Adam’s relieved every night when he can go home, shut his door behind him and ignore the world.

Until Monte mentions the magic word: tour. They’ve just come off-set from performing the new single on Ellen, and it’s a throwaway comment; he says something to Cam about how they’re going to have to smooth out a transition for that song when they’re touring, and Adam stops, freezing in the middle of the corridor leading back to their dressing rooms.

 

Monte glances back at him, his eyebrows raised. “You okay? You look kinda pale.”

 

Adam shakes his head and digs up a smile that he knows isn’t going to fool Monte for a second. “I’m … fine. I just. I hadn’t really thought about … touring yet.”

 

Monte claps him on the back and says, “Better start thinking about it, because the label’s gonna come after you about it soon.”

 

Adam bites his lip and picks at the already-chipped polish on his thumbnail. “I know. I just … I figured …” he stops and frowns. This really isn’t the place for this conversation.

 

“I figured we’d all be together again,” he says quietly, as they go into the dressing room set aside for them before the show.

 

Monte doesn’t say anything else, just taps a finger on his lips, frowning.

 

Adam wants to ask him what he’s cooking up, but he knows all he’ll get in return is cryptic Monte, and he’s not in the mood for riddles.

 

As though he’s made it happen just by mentioning it, Adam wakes up the next morning to a message from Lane, who’s scheduled a meeting with the higher-ups.

 

Everything after that seems to speed up and before he knows it, Adam’s auditioning new dancers and idly bickering with Monte over hiring a new bassist.

 

“Just – wait a couple more days, okay? Let me talk to him again.”

 

Adam pulls a face as Brooke comes into the rehearsal room and settles in the chair beside him. “I don’t know … I don’t want to force him into it if he doesn’t want to –”

 

Monte just rolls his eyes and smacks his hand down on the table for emphasis. “Do you or do you not want Tommy back? In the band, I mean. It’s been a year, Adam. I think you can be in the same room together by now.”

 

Adam spins the takeout coffee Brooke has brought him, aware of her eyes on the back of his neck. “I – yeah. Of course I want him back – in the band. It was hard enough making the album without him, but touring without him …” Adam trails off and scratches his hand through his hair, frustrated. Monte stands up then, having come in just to talk to Adam about the band for the tour.

 

“I’ll talk to him again. Don’t worry, Adam. We’ll get the band back together!”

 

Adam and Brooke both laugh at that as Monte’s unfailing optimism never fails to lift his spirits.

 

“Okay,” Brooke says, all business now, and Adam has to shake his head a little bit to bring himself back to what she’s saying. “We’ve got Terrance, Taylor and Sasha back for this tour. But with it being so much bigger, we’re going to need more dancers. Well. Two more, I think.”

 

“Just two?” Adam pouts a little at that, having had visions of something _much_ larger than that, but Brooke is giving him the same steely look she had given him before the first tour when he’d tried to mess with her choreography.

 

“Just two. I know it’s a bigger show and all that, Adam, but two more is all we need. Trust me, okay?”

 

“Always,” Adam says, automatically, and Brooke smiles, happy.

 

By the end of the day they have two new dancers, both talented, and both with the kind of energy that Adam wants in his troupe, because it’s not just about the shows, it’s about living on top of people for months at a time, and being able to get along, and that unnameable alchemy that happens on stage when people who are doing what they love can pull together and put that energy out into the world.

 

Brooke’s happy, which makes Adam happy, Jason and Sally are very happy, and Adam finds himself agreeing to go out for celebratory drinks, even though he doesn’t feel much like socialising.

“You can’t hide forever,” Brooke says. “The album’s done, we’ll be in rehearsals soon enough, so you should get out while you can; before you _actually_ turn into a hermit.”

 _“I’m not a hermit,” he protests, as Brooke gives Jason and Sally instructions to her favourite bar. “I just … I’ve been working.”_

 _Brooke quirks an eyebrow at him that he knows means “bullshit”, so he takes the road of least resistance: he shuts up._

 _“It’s just that – until recently, I haven’t had much to celebrate,” he says quietly as he opens the car door for her._

 _She pats his cheek and sighs. “I know, honey. We all do. It’s just – don’t let one mistake take over your whole life, okay?”_

 _“I haven’t exactly been living like a _monk_ ” Adam argues, defensive. “I’ve gone out. I’ve even had sex. I just – I’m not ready for a relationship. That doesn’t make me a hermit.”_

 _“Jason’s cute,” Brooke says then, swerving the topic sideways, which is a habit of hers that Adam will never get used to._

 _“And don’t say you didn’t notice. I saw you staring at his ass.”_

 _Adam doesn’t bother wasting energy on denial, as he slips into a parking space. “He’s a dancer,” he points out. “He’s bound to have a nice ass. It’s like …. a rule.”_

 _“MMmmhmmm … he seems like a nice guy, too. Sweet.”_

 _The bar is in a quiet corner of LA; tucked away from the flash and drama, and Adam’s thankful for that as Sally and Jason bowl up to them in a flurry of energy, ready to celebrate._

 _The bar has the smallest dance floor in the universe, and Jason really does have a nice ass …_

 _He congratulates himself when he tears himself away to go home alone after just one drink. Brooke laughs at him and calls him an old man, even as Sally and Jason drag her back on to the dance floor._

 _Adam waves, sneaks another look at Jason’s ass, and heads home. He’s tired; bone-tired, but excited at the same time. He’s been stationary for so long, and it finally feels like he’s in motion._

 _Monte calls him the next day, talking about rehearsal schedules and setting up meetings with Lane and the label to organise dates. He feels something flip in his stomach, and knows Monte catches it in his voice when he asks something inane about the arrangement of one of the songs._

 _“Oh, and I talked to Tommy a couple of times.” He drops it into the conversation casually, like it’s not a ticking bomb waiting to go off. Adam bites his tongue – hard – and waits. “He’s coming back. For the tour. Just need to let him know when rehearsals start, and he’ll be there.”_

 _Adam lets out a long exhale, and waits for his heart to stop triphammering. Monte’s quiet on the other end of the line, humming the odd line of a song as he waits for Adam to speak._

 _“Okay,” Adam says when he thinks he can trust his voice. “That’s uh, that’s good.”_

 _Monte spares him, and they move on to talking about the logistics of pulling everyone together for the rehearsals._

 _Despite everything, and his trepidation at the idea of seeing Tommy again for the first time in a year – Adam can’t help it. He’s excited. His first tour was something else – a once in a lifetime experience, but this … it’s so much bigger._

 _He feels the weight of it when he parks up outside the rehearsal space for the first time – worn-down studio space in an old, obscure corner of the city that Brooke had found – big enough for all of them to be together right from the start of the process._

 _Getting out of his car, Adam pauses for a moment, closing his eyes. This is … it. The beginning._

 _Of everything._

 _He opens his eyes and nearly gives the universe the finger, because clearly somewhere some time it’s laughing at him. He leans against his car, sun-warming already and watches as Tommy gets out of a beat-up piece of crap on the other side of the street, about as far from the studio as he can get with still being in the same area._

 _Adam slides his sunglasses down from their perch on his head to his eyes and studies Tommy while he can – while everything is still quiet._

 _He looks … the same, mostly. Skinnier, Adam thinks, if that’s possible. He’s cut his hair. It’s still bleach-blonde, but now it’s short all over, and as Adam watches, he runs his hand over his head, like it’s a recent change and he’s still not used to it._

 _Adam glances back at the door, then over to Tommy, wavering. He watches as Tommy opens the back door of the car, and gets out his guitar case, slinging it over his shoulder._

 _“It’s now or never,” Adam mutters, hardly aware of having said anything out loud. Shoving a hand through his hair, he takes a deep breath, and walks quickly across the street, stopping awkwardly by the front of the car when someone gets out of the passenger side._

 _He hangs back as a girl slams the car door and smiles across the bonnet at Tommy. She looks up and sees Adam, her smile faltering a bit. Adam smiles, feeling as awkward as it’s possible to feel. Tommy turns around then, frowning, and takes a step back when he sees Adam standing there._

 _“Hi,” Adam says, weakly. As openers he was hoping for something a little more spectacular, but he suddenly feels like he’s swallowed his tongue. The girl tucks herself under Tommy’s arm, and Adam finds himself fighting the impulse to take a step back._

 _She saves them all by sticking out her hand. “Hi. I’m Heather. It’s nice to finally meet you.”_

 _Adam steals a glance at Tommy, but his face is unreadable. He shakes Heather’s hand and finds his voice. “It’s … nice to meet you to. I, uh – I’ll see you inside.”_

 _Tommy still doesn’t say anything and Adam has no choice but to turn and head toward the studio, muttering curses under his breath when he’s pretty sure he’s out of earshot._

 _He looks around as he walks back to the studio, back, and smiles at the familiar cars he can see, stopping when he feels strong arms wrap around him from behind. “Hey boss man,” Brooke says. “You ready?”_

 _Adam turns around in the circle of her arms, returning the hug, even as he glances over at where Tommy and Heather are still talking._

 _“Babe, I was _born_ ready.” _

 

Brooke rolls her eyebrows and pokes him hard in the stomach. “Cheesy. But accurate. C’mon then. What are you waiting …” she glances over Adam’s shoulder and turns back to him, carefully schooling her features. “Oh. Well. It looks like everyone else is here, so I’ll go on in and tell them that you’ll be along in a second?”

 

She phrases it like a question, but she’s already moving towards the door. _Traitor_ Adam mouths at her as she waves at him, pulling the door shut behind her.

 

Adam turns around in time to see Tommy heading towards him, solo now, as Heather gets into the driver’s seat of the car, guns the engine and pulls out of the parking lot.

 

He turns his phone over and over in his hand to have something to do as Tommy approaches and he’s no less nervous than he was before. There’s no barrier now; now it’s just the two of them. Tommy stops in front of him and shifts his case from one hand to the other, and back again.

 

“Hi,” Adam says again, careful not to pitch his voice too low; because this feels weirdly … intimate, even though they’re in a very public place, and they haven’t seen each other in more than a year.

 

Tommy tilts his head back, his face-eating sunglasses in place, making his expression unreadable.

 

“Hi,” he says back, and Adam wants to see his eyes, wants to ask him to take the damn sunglasses off but Tommy just stands there, tilting his head up, like he’s waiting for something.

 

“I. Uh. We should – ” Adam makes a vague gesture because he’s not sure if he means “go inside”, or “talk.”

Tommy shifts his guitar case again, before looking down at it like he’s surprised it’s there in his hand. “If we don’t get our asses inside, we’re never gonna hear the end of it about being late from Monte. Don’t know about you, but I’m not keen on hearing the same fucking thing every day for the next, like, year or whatever.”

 

That startles a laugh out of Adam, and he starts to relax just a little bit. They parted on the worst terms possible, and it’s surreal to be in the same orbit again, but he’s reassured by the fact that Tommy feels comfortable enough to banter with him when they haven’t even _spoken_ in months.

 

“I – yeah, okay. Let’s go in. Get this show on the road, and other assorted old-movie clichés.”

 

Adam glances down in time to see a fleeting grin on Tommy’s face. It comes and goes so fast, he’s not entirely sure that it’s not wishful thinking on his part, and he sighs as he holds the door open, out of long-ingrained habit.

 

“Um … we could – uh, we should talk, I guess,” Tommy says as he walks past Adam into the studio. “About. Uh, the tour.”

Adam nods, caught off-guard as he lets the door swing shut behind them. He hadn’t thought Tommy would be the one to suggest talking, after the way things had ended so badly.

“We could get coffee or something. After rehearsal,” Adam says, right before Tommy is tackled by Isaac, who had sped across the space toward them. Over Isaac’s shoulder, Tommy nods and smiles again.

 

“You’re here, you’re here, take those stupid glasses off, you’re inside, you’re _here_.”

 

Tommy puts his hands on Isaac’s shoulder and pushes him back, gently. “Yeah, I’m here. Think I’d let you do this without me?” He pushes his sunglasses to the top of his head then, glancing lightning-quick at Adam, who finds, suddenly that he can’t meet Tommy’s eyes.

 

He’s saved from another potentially awkward moment - because suddenly he doesn’t know what to do with his _hands_ and jesus, he shouldn’t be this _scattered_ \- by Monte calling them all together.

 

Monte is still the person Adam trusts the most in the world with the music besides himself, and making him musical director again just makes sense. Monte’s passionate, hardworking and has the focus to pull them through that Adam – on rare occasions – lacks.

 

Soon, he’s immersed in the process and even though it’s only the first day, Adam can feel the excitement buzzing around the room already, like electricity.

 

He’s careful not to get too close to Tommy; it’s only day one and they need to talk about how … things are going to come together on stage. (It’s been a year, and Adam’s brain still dodges away from the specifics; he still feels that old, worn spike of pain when he thinks about it too closely) He concentrates on the songs instead; on getting the arrangements right, and talking to the band about the set list, while Brooke works with the dancers in another corner of the large space that has floor to ceiling mirrors set up.

 

It’s a long, far from perfect day – Tommy has to learn all of the new songs and the band hasn’t played together as one unit since the last tour so it’s mostly about set up and working out the set list while Tommy goes over the new songs with Monte, Cam and Isaac. Adam keeps his distance, and it’s easy enough – he’s got enough to do that it looks completely natural.

 

He finds himself, as the end of the long, first day draws to a close, looking forward to – not going out, that smacks too close to a date for Adam’s liking – but to just … talking to Tommy again. Like they used to, maybe.

 

Like friends.

 

That plan is torpedoed however when they all leave, and Heather’s waiting, leaning against Tommy’s beat up old car, one hand shielding her face from the sun setting in a red blaze and washing everything over with orange light.

 

Tommy half-turns back to Adam, and Adam would swear he almost sees something on Tommy’s face – something like frustration, a tightening around the eyes, but it’s gone before he can catch it. He forces a smile, determined to keep things light while he can and says, “Raincheck?”

 

Tommy slides his sunglasses down over his eyes, as his mouth quirks up into a small smile. “Sure. See you tomorrow.”

 

Adam half-raises his hand in an awkward wave and finds himself absently agreeing to go out later with Jason, Taylor, Sally and Sasha to some club that’s just opened, even though he just wants to go home, eat whatever’s in his freezer and talk at Danielle until she hangs up on him.

 

“You’re just using me for my name,” he grumbles at them good-naturedly as Jason ducks under his arm and plasters himself to Adam’s side.

 

“Yes, yes we are,” he says cheerfully. “And you get to feed us first, too. Because, you know, you’re like, the rock star and we’re just your lowly back-up dancers.”

 

Jason flutters his eyelashes outrageously then, grinning widely and Adam finds himself smiling back. He likes Jason – he’s got energy to burn, a wicked sense of humour and yes, okay, Adam admits to himself, the ass doesn’t hurt either.

 

And it’s not like he’s been celibate the past year. He’s just been … working, and when he’s working there’s not a lot of room for anything else, especially something as fragile as a new relationship. (And when he has gone out, or hooked up, it’s been with old, trusted friends that he knows won’t sell him out to Perez or the tabloids the morning after. One night stands – or one-month stands in the case of Brad most recently where they had poked at the idea of getting back together for a while before parting once again as close friends – without regret or recrimination is how he’s happy to live his life at the moment.)

 

Jason’s right there, and he’s fun and uncomplicated to be around. Adam’s pretty sure he’s picking up signals as well but he’s really bad at that usually, and although he went balls to the wall on his album, he approaches everything else now warily, like it’s going to blow up in his face any second.

 

“Am I?” he says, raising his eyebrows as Sally ducks under his other arm and winds her arm around his waist. “Well, we haven’t spent a lot of time with you yet, so we should, like, have a get to know you dinner. Or something.”

 

“I see,” Adam says, finding that he’s enjoying himself. “And what’s your excuse then?” he says to Sasha and Taylor, grinning.

 

Taylor cocks his head to the side and gives the question what appears to be serious consideration. “Because we’re freeloaders.”

 

Adam’s laugh rings out, bright and loud echoing around the now nearly empty street.

 

They all fall into a welcome, familiar pattern after that. Brooke – who looks and acts like a sweetheart most of the time – turns into a drill sergeant with the dancers and nothing less than perfection will do. Adam and Monte are just as disciplined with the band, and after a few days, everything just _clicks_ all of a sudden, and pulls together and Adam knows at that moment that the tour is going to be amazing.

 

The one frustration – the one pea under his mattress that he can’t fix – is Tommy. The promised talk somehow never happens as they all immerse themselves in the details of the show, and as the tour approaches, Adam still has no idea what he’s going to do – or how Tommy feels – about incorporating some of their old stage antics into the shows.

 

He tries, but the universe can be a cockblocking bitch when it suits her, and either there’s something to go over in one of the numbers that only Monte can help Tommy with, or Heather shows up early to pick him up, or Adam has an interview …

 

“It’s _frustrating_ ” he says when Brad calls one night not long before the tour is due to start, a semi-regular thing that Adam’s grateful for because it means he can vent to someone that’s not invested in the tour, but someone who _knows_ him, start to finish.

 

“It’s like I can’t get near him to talk at all, and I have no idea how he feels about the – stage stuff and it’s getting to the point where I’m going to be asking him _on stage_.”

 

Brad snorts at that, and Adam can almost see him roll his eyes. And, okay – that’s a little dramatic, but he has no idea what to do.

 

“Stop trying,” is Brad’s advice. “Stop trying to make it happen, and it’ll happen.”

 

Brad’s calm in the face of Adam’s maelstrom and it feels like cold water on a scorching hot day. He does this: he pushes and pushes and expects the universe to fall into line with him, when it’s always going to be the other way around.

 

“You make it sound easy,” he says, because it might be good advice but the universe isn’t getting off the hook _that_ easily.

 

“I never said anything about easy,” Brad says, and now Adam’s pretty sure the little fucker is laughing at him. “I just said to stop trying to make it happen. You’ll wear yourself down before you even _get_ on the stage.”

“See, this is why I pay you the big bucks. Because you’re like my own personal Oprah.”

 

“Thanks. You realise that makes you Gayle …”

 

Adam’s still laughing when he hears the dial tone.

 

He falls into some kind of … thing with Jason, that he won’t call a relationship because – “It’s pretty much just fucking,” Jason says cheerfully one night when Adam tentatively broaches the subject.

 

“And you’re … okay with that? I don’t want you to feel like I’m using you …” Adam’s voice drifts away when Jason laughs. Quicksilver fast, Jason moves to straddle Adam’s hips, kicking away the sheets at the same time.

 

“You’re not,” he says, reaching up to tangle his fingers in Adam’s hair. “I’m having _fun_. It’s okay to just have fun, sometimes. But that’s all this is. Fun.”

 

“Fun,” Adam echoes, twisting up and around, pinning Jason to the bed before he can react. “Yes, Adam. _Fun_.”

 

Even so, Adam breaks it off the next morning, over coffee as they wait for the cars to come and ferry them from his house to the buses.

 

“I just – we’ll be living so close to each other for the next few months, and I don’t want – complications? Does that make me sound like an asshole?”

 

Jason picks up his coffee and tilts his head to the side, a quirk of his when he’s thinking.

 

“You think that in a situation like that … we might mistake physical closeness for something else and so you want to stop before it gets messy. Also, you don’t want to … parade me in front of your ex-boyfriend that you’re still in love with. How did I do?” he says, brightly, like he’s asking if he just passed a test.

 

Adam’s speechless for a moment, aware that his mouth is hanging open but unable to move. Jason reaches over and gently presses his fingers under Adam’s chin until his mouth closes again.

“I have _eyes_ , Adam, I can see. You always know exactly where Tommy is. You watch him, and it’s like … you’re holding your breath around him, and wearing your heart on your sleeve. It should be creepy, I guess, but it’s kind of sweet, and no, I don’t mind. But it means you need to sort your shit out.”

 

“You sound like Brad,” Adam says, nipping at Jason’s fingers when he tries to pull them back.

 

“Hmmm … well, if two people you care about are saying the same thing, doesn’t that mean you should at least pretend to listen?”

 

It’s a good question, and one that Adam ponders a couple of days later when everyone gathers at the buses, ready to do it all again.

 

Everything is done up in shades of blue and green; turquoise and purple – the buses; the costumes; the stage sets, as the Aquarius Rising Tour launches, and Adam pauses for a moment, just staring. Glam Nation felt like the start of what his vision for touring was, but it felt … small sometimes. Like he couldn’t spread out properly, and articulate _exactly_ what he wanted. Now, with a much bigger sold-out tour; a platinum album and rave reviews, he feels light, almost, and ready to fly.

 

He finds himself scanning the familiar faces over and over again, somehow half-expecting not to see Tommy at all – that now that the tour is real and right in front of them, that Tommy’s going to find it too much.

 

Adam lets out a breath he’s not aware of holding when he sees Tommy’s battered old car pull into the parking lot. He’s vaguely aware of Monte beside him, and doesn’t hear what he says at first.

 

“Say again?” Adam asks, as one of the buses revs its engine. Monte leans in closer, a hand on Adam’s shoulder. “Tommy and Heather broke up a few days ago. He didn’t want to … say anything, but I thought that you should know before we head out.”

 

Adam turns to face Monte, and pulls him further away from the noisy rumble of the bus engines. “What happened?”

 

Monte shakes his head and looks over to where Tommy’s getting his cases out of the trunk of his car, talking to Isaac.

 

“I don’t know the details. He’s been pretty … closed about it. Just called me after it happened. They only dated for a couple of months, I think, and it wasn’t serious. But you know – a break up is a break up. I know you need to talk to him, but tread carefully, okay?”

 

Adam nods as Monte pats him on the arm and heads for the band bus, almost stumbling when Cam catches him from behind in a surprise hug. Adam laughs out loud at that, which catches in his throat when Tommy turns around to look at him.

 

Adam finds himself moving before he realises he’s made the decision to. He stops when Tommy’s roommate Mike gets out of the passenger side of the car, rocking back on his heels. Mike looks between them and says “I’ll get your stuff on the bus.”

 

Tommy blinks and turns his head, like he’s forgotten Mike’s there. “Okay. Here – car keys. And … thanks.”

 

Mike takes the keys and turns them over in his hand, before looking up. “Anything, man.”

 

Adam waits until Mike is out of earshot, and takes the chance to quietly study Tommy. He looks tired; dark circles under his eyes, and his hair is a weird mix of light brown and blond. His fringe is a little longer, and the way it’s scattering across his forehead makes Adam’s fingers itch to push it back.

 

Brad and Jason are right, he realises, the revelation coming upon him quietly. He is still in love with Tommy. He sighs and bites his lip as Tommy cocks his head to the side, a questioning look.

 

“I – I’ve been meaning to talk to you about … about the shows, but there never seemed to be a chance and now the timing is just – weird, and awkward. Anyway – now that we’re getting on the road, it’s not going to be any easier to find the time, and - do you mind riding with me? Just - for today. We really need to talk.”

 

Adam catches his breath on the last word, having raced through what he just said, needing to get it out before his courage failed him altogether.

 

Tommy doesn’t say anything for a moment, just studies Adam’s face, like he’s  
looking for something.

 

“Sure,” he says. “Just let me tell Monte so he doesn’t think I got left behind.”

 

The main problem with talking on the buses is the complete lack of privacy. Adam discards his own room immediately – it’s completely taken up by a large bed, which brings up now-painful memories for him.

 

For Tommy too, he supposes.

 

They get on the bus, and Adam pulls Brooke aside, quietly saying he needs to talk to Tommy with as much privacy as they can find – without using his room. Brooke glances quickly between the two of them and nods, giving Adam a quick kiss on the cheek before briskly herding everyone back towards the bunks.

 

Sasha pokes her head up and raises her eyebrows, grinning before making a beeline for his room, closely followed by Terrance and Taylor. Adam raises a hand, wanting to protest but just sighs in resignation. It won’t be the last time his room is overtaken.

 

Tommy laughs and falls into the only armchair in the minute-sized living area near the front of the bus. Brooke pulls the curtain across behind her after giving Adam a small wink.

 

Adam sits down on the sofa – a small, slightly uncomfortable two-seater that he knows won’t feel half as rigid under his legs after a few days.

 

Tommy sits forward, lacing his fingers together and resting his elbows on his legs.

 

The silence that stretches then is awkward and heavy, weighted with so many unsaid words and unacknowledged feelings.

 

Adam sighs and runs a hand through his hair, a gesture that pulls a smile out of Tommy.

 

“You always did that when you were nervous. Drove Sutan nuts.”

 

Adam lets out a shaky laugh. “Yeah, I remember. It’ll be the same this time around if I don’t get a handle on it.

 

“Anyway …”

 

“Right. Talking.” Tommy rubs his hands over his legs, and it occurs to Adam for the first time that he might have been nervous about this moment, too.

 

“I – I just wanted to talk to you about … the show, and this is the worst timing ever, and we should’ve talked about it weeks ago, and I feel like I’m putting you on the spot because the first show is tomorrow, and –” Adam stops talking by virtue of having run out of air.

 

He takes a deep breath and looks up to find Tommy watching him, his face unreadable. “The show,” he repeats, blankly before understanding dawns.

 

“You mean … the stuff on stage. Fever and all that.”

 

Adam nods, staring fixedly at the ground between his feet, feeling awkward.

 

“Adam. Adam, look at me.”

 

Reluctantly, Adam drags his eyes up from his minute study of the floor and meets Tommy’s steady gaze.

 

“I didn’t want to just – not say anything, because that wouldn’t be fair to you if I got, you know, caught up, and I didn’t want to take you by surprise –” Adam bites down on his babble when Tommy starts laughing.

 

“Sorry,” he says, getting himself under control with visible effort. “Uh, look – the show is the show, okay? I’m not gonna get upset with your or angry if. I mean – it’s – it’s fine.”

 

Adam nods, relieved, as another awkward silence descends. The quiet roar of the bus engines is the only noise for a while until Adam feels his phone buzz. Glad for the distraction, he picks it up from the table and reads the message from Brooke:

 

 _all clear?_

 

He turns the screen to show Tommy, who grins and rolls his eyes. “I’m gonna go crash for a bit anyway – we got a long ride ahead.”

 

Adam nods, and fires a quick text back to Brooke, before slumping back on the sofa as Tommy makes his way to the back of the bus, muttering something about stealing Taylor’s bunk for a bit.

 

He’s distracted from his own thoughts when Sasha lands in his lap. Brooke curls up beside him, and he’s vaguely aware of Jason and Taylor heading towards the tiny kitchen.

 

“How’d it go?” Brooke asks him, quietly. He turns his head and offers a half-smile; small but sincere. “Okay. A little awkward, but … okay.”

 

Brooke nods, and kisses his cheek.

 

“It’ll all work out. You’ll see.”

 

Adam wishes he had Brooke’s faith.

 

The first show goes better than they all expect. The first image everyone sees is a giant, half-naked water bearer, pouring water from a huge, silver pitcher hitched up on to his shoulder. The water pours down his torso, and soaks his body before flowing down and morphing into a waterfall.

 

The strains of the first song play – a dark, thumping beat that has the crowd on their feet screaming. Adam pauses at the microphone for a moment, and he can’t help the grin that spreads over his face before he launches into the performance.

 

There are a few hitches here and there, but nothing that can’t be ironed out over the course of the next few shows as they all get used to performing together again, and Jason and Sally find their own niches within the close-knit group.

 

They have the luxury of hotel rooms that night, and by unspoken agreement everyone piles into Adam’s room, high on adrenaline and exhaustion. He sees Tommy, trying to slip away, and he’s hurt by that, a little, because on stage it had felt like nothing had changed at all in a year, but Isaac, who’s full of energy and chattering on, hooks an arm around Tommy’s neck and drags him forward.

 

“No, no, no Tommy Joe. No hermiting. It’s our first show and we all have to celebrate. Come on.”

 

Adam’s pretty sure he imagines the ghost of a wink Isaac tips him as he holds the door open for everyone to pile in to his room.

 

He calls down to room service for alcohol and food, letting the relaxed, happy atmosphere carry him along.

 

It becomes a tradition – a welcome return of a tradition from the first tour, and Adam starts to relax – just a little bit.

 

They all flow into and around each other, like the last tour hadn’t finished at all – like they’ve all just been doing this forever – and it makes Adam ache, just a little bit, when he sees Tommy jamming with Monte, or goofing around with Taylor and Isaac.

 

He keeps a little bit of distance from Tommy off-stage. It was the complete lack of space and distance that got them tangled up – and Adam confused and ultimately heartbroken – in the first place. He senses the same slight coolness from Tommy, in the way he pulls back when Adam’s around, the way he pulls into himself, and even though it makes sense, and he’s doing the same thing, Adam hurts a little.

 

He misses it more than he thought he would – the closeness that they used to share. The nights on the bus or in hotel rooms, where they’d curl up together on Adam’s bed and talk for hours about the show, or music or just – Adam snaps himself out of that train of thought.

 

Nostalgia is dangerous and tricky, Adam knows, like an insidious energy-sapping drug, and he needs to focus on the here and now – on his tour, and making every show perfect.

 

He draws closer to Terrance and Brooke this time around, instinctively leaning on his old friends to pull him through the occasional dark spots.

 

Monte watches him with the wary protectiveness of an older brother, and it soothes Adam’s heart to know that he’s there, ready to catch him if he falls – though he has no intention of falling.

 

“I’m living in a bubble,” he tells Neil sleepily one night as they lounge around in Adam’s hotel room watching … something. Neil grunts, half-listening as he frowns at his laptop, pecking out his latest blog post – the label having given him permission to write about the tour from his somewhat unique perspective as he works for Adam as a PA again.

Neil raises his eyes, blinking. “Was that it or did you actually have a point? Because I’m working here.”

 

“You have your own room, you know,” Adam snaps, irritated. He loves Neil, but being in close quarters with him again grates against his nerves some days.

 

Neil just rolls his eyes, unrepentant and says, “Yeah, but this way I can order whatever I like and it goes on YOUR tab. Plus it’s easier to work in your room than mine. When you say don’t disturb or else, people listen. When I say it they seem to take it as an invitation to bug me with the most random shit just because they can. So you’re stuck with me till this is finished.”

 

“Fine, just … type quieter,” Adam mutters, so close to sleep that it’s not going to matter soon if Neil suddenly takes up clog dancing. He ignores the finger Neil flips at him and rolls himself into his covers, letting exhaustion take carry him away.

 

The tour rolls on and around; rumbling its way through America and Canada, a patchwork, criss-cross road trip that feels exactly the same as the first tour, and completely different to Adam at the same time.

 

The same insofar as he feels the same high for being on stage that he always has; the music feels the same, even though the set list is much longer; Adam still gets the same kind of buzz from it; and he’s with all the people that he … loves.

 

He’s careful, with his distance from Tommy, and it becomes like a delicate, elaborate dance, as everyone inevitably draws closer and closer as the tour draws out, and more and more dates are added, and Adam finds himself _needing_ everyone again just as much as before.

 

Which makes avoiding Tommy outside of the shows themselves almost impossible.

 

They barely speak, except about the shows, or the staging, sometimes veering into thin-ice territory when they stray into talking about music that has nothing to do with the tour, or reminiscences about the previous tour. One of them always pulls back, though, when that topic comes up.

 

Either Tommy draws into himself even further; shrinking himself in the world somehow; as though there being less of him might reduce the hurt; or Adam bites back on words that he should have said months ago, when he acted almost carelessly, throwing away what he knows – now – could have been something great and true.

The dance has become so elaborate that now everyone on the tour is involved; almost subconsciously taking their places; marking their spots so that the all-important off-stage distance can be maintained.

 

The fact that on-stage, Tommy bends to Adam just as easily as ever; kisses him the same - _tastes_ the same … Adam has to be absolutely ruthless with himself, and the dividing line is clear, stark and black.

 

Until the night that Tommy himself reaches out, and starts erasing it.

 

It’s a small, simple gesture – a hand on Adam’s arm as they’re leaving the stage after a show that’s gone particularly well. Adam would have to ask Lane or Neil where they are, but it’s somewhere with a massive stadium, his voice soaring up into the tiers and echoing through the spaces, filling them with sound.

 

The energy stays with all of them as they take their bows and make their way backstage. Adam feels a brush of fingers on his bare arm, and looks down, half-expecting it to be Isaac, or Cam.

 

He nearly trips over his own feet when he sees Tommy smiling up at him, his dark eyes wide and warm.

 

“Good show,” is all he says, letting his fingertips trail over Adam’s arm for a moment before he’s swallowed up by the darkness backstage.

 

It’s a small, almost unnoticed moment, but Adam feels as though ice floes have shifted and continents have cracked.

 

He catches Monte’s eye, who smiles at him and slaps him on the back before following Neil into the depths of the dressing rooms.

 

Adam stops and takes a deep breath. It’s one touch. One little touch, and he can’t let himself over-react or get distracted. That wouldn’t be good for anyone

 

He’s getting better at lying to himself.

 

Adam knows he’s living on borrowed time. One touch can’t erase a year of heartache, for either himself or Tommy. One of them has to make the next move, and it’s on him, but he finds his feet – metaphorically – frozen to the floor.

He feels the weight of everything so much more this time around: more people relying on him; more shows; more chances to fuck up; more scrutiny … just … more.

 

Most of it’s fine; it’s kind of awesome most of the time, except when it’s not – when the paps get too close on a rare day off, or when a persistent interviewer won’t let a question go that Adam has no intention of answering, or when soundcheck is off – on those days, Adam finds himself seeking out Cam, who doesn’t ask anything of him, doesn’t expect anything from him, and of all the people he knows and loves, is content to just sit and not say anything.

 

It’s the most soothed Adam’s felt since the tour started.

 

He’s been dreading the long weekend. Three days with nothing but his own circling thoughts isn’t exactly his idea of a relaxing time. His only plans are for his bed in his hotel room; lying flat on his back and being unconscious for as much of it as possible.

 

Monte’s taking the chance to fly back to LA to spend the few spare days with his family; Cam’s going off with her girlfriend somewhere mysterious, Sasha’s girlfriend is flying in and the rest of the troupe scatter with their own plans for the brief breather.

 

Because on some days the universe seems to enjoy kicking him over and over, Adam finds himself sharing an elevator ride with Tommy after an irritating, too-long radio interview. Adam spent so much of it clenching his teeth that now he’s riding an ache low in his jaw that’s threatening to crawl up into his head.

 

The silence in the elevator is strange and heavy, with no one else around to buffer them from it. Adam shifts from one foot to the other and watches as Tommy punches his floor number, two below Adam’s.

 

“So, uh, you’re staying here? For the break?”

 

Tommy glances at Adam as he absently bites at a loose piece of skin by his thumb. “Um. Yeah. Mom’s visiting her sister in Hawaii and Lisa and her husband are moving. So. Yeah.”

 

“Not gonna go and play with Monte?” Adam asks, casting about for something. He knows that – despite the short turnaround – Monte has a gig lined up in LA.

Tommy rolls his eyes as the elevator quietly dings to a stop. “Don’t worry. You won’t even know I’m here.” As an exit line it’s a good one and it takes Adam a moment to stir and start to say “That’s not –” which is as far as he gets before the doors close and the elevator is rising again.

 

He gets to his room, irritation and frustration humming under his skin. Neil’s there, sprawled on the sofa like he’s planning on moving in for the weekend. Adam picks a fight with him, and they have a satisfying shouting match that really only siblings can have and still be friends afterward, which ends with Neil calling Adam a fucking asshole and slamming the door on his way out.

 

Adam collapses back on his bed, feeling like the aftermath of a thunderstorm. His head feels clear, even though he’s exhausted, and he can only laugh when he gets a text from Neil asking if he wants to grab some dinner later.

 

He texts Neil back _sure but you’re paying, freeloader_ before heading to the shower.

 

The next day, Adam’s dozing like a cat on the bed in a wide patch of sunlight while Neil – who has unabashedly invaded his space again – is sprawled on the room’s sofa pecking at his laptop and periodically glancing up at the door.

 

“What the hell are you waiting for?” Adam asks, having prised his eyes open in time to see Neil glance at the door yet again. “You’re kind of wrecking my relaxation here.”

 

Neil’s saved from answering by a knock at the door. “Finally,” he mutters as Adam sits on the edge of the bed, a sudden, cold lump of trepidation settling in his gut.

 

“Neil,” he says quietly, as Neil reaches the door. “What the hell is …”

 

“What took you so long?” Neil says, irritable as he yanks the door open like it’s personally offended him somehow.

 

“Sorry.” Sutan’s voice is laden with sarcasm. “But it took me longer than I thought to convince Tommy to even leave his room, let alone come here.”

 

As Adam stands up, Sutan propels Tommy into the room by way of a gentle shove.

“Right,” he says, brisk and practical, turning his laser gaze on Adam who has to resist the urge to take a step back. “I’m only going to say this once, then Neil and I are going across the hall to my room and by all that is good in this world Adam Lambert you two are _going_ to talk.”

 

Adam glances involuntarily at Tommy, who has his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie, and he’s giving Sutan a dark, baleful stare. “Save the melodrama for Adam, honey,” Sutan says without looking back at Tommy before saying in a gentler tone, “Look – we all love you both, and you are both driving us all crazy.

 

“We don’t care how you do it, or what you do to get there but you need to start talking – at least like civilised human beings, if you can’t bridge the friend gap yet.”

 

Sutan comes over and lays his hands on either side of Adam’s face, and Adam gets the slight tilt of vertigo he always gets this close to Sutan, who has a few inches of height on him.

 

“Just talk to him, okay? For all of us. We’re meant to be enjoying this, not … tiptoeing around the volcano.” Sutan gives Adam a smacking kiss on his forehead, pats Tommy on his cheek, and sweeps Neil up in his graceful, slightly scattered wake.

 

“My door will be open, so I will know if either of you bail before you’ve hammered this out. Now. Talk.”

 

Adam watches helplessly as Sutan and Neil leave, the door clicking shut behind them.

 

He sits back down on the bed and looks, wary, at Tommy, who hasn’t moved. He meets Adam’s gaze and says, “Okay,” before turning to the mini fridge. Bending down to open the door, he empties it out and lines up all the tiny bottles on the table in front of the sofa.

 

This is a plan Adam can get on board with, and he moves from the bed to collapse on the sofa, swiping a bottle of vodka and downing it in one, staring at the ceiling. He hears a clink and without looking he knows Tommy’s taken a tiny bottle of Jack.

 

They sit in silence for a while, determinedly drinking their way through Adam’s mini-bar. There aren’t enough bottles to get them hammered, but there are enough for Tommy to move from the sole armchair to the sofa, perching on the edge and turning the last empty bottle over and over in his hands.

Adam turns his head carefully from his contemplation of the ceiling to watching Tommy’s fingers curling and uncurling around the tiny bottle he’s holding.

 

“I’m … sorry,” he says suddenly and Adam blinks. “What?” he asks, feeling stupid and slow, like he’s missed part of a conversation he didn’t realise they’d been having.

 

Tommy puts the empty bottle down on the table and stares down at his hands again.

 

“For … some of the stuff I said when we … when … before.” He looks up to meet Adam’s gaze. “I – should have – said something, told you –”

 

Adam moves then, instinctive, but slow, like he expects Tommy to get up and bolt. He’s not sure how well a hug would be received, though that’s what he wants to do, so he settles for touching Tommy’s bare arm, almost absently stroking his fingers over the bare, inked skin.

 

“I – you’re not the one who needs to apologise. I should have – I should have trusted you. Trusted _us_ , instead of … doing what I did, and I hate the fact that I can never take that back.”

 

Adam drops his hand and digs his fingers into the cheap, rough fabric of the sofa, feeling suddenly too fragile to look Tommy in the eye. This is the most honest they’ve been with each other for over a year and it feels momentous but commonplace all at once – an important, gravity-shifting talk that still just boils down to two people, trying to find their way back to a less rocky common ground.

 

Tommy shifts his own hand, resting it on the sofa facing Adam’s so their fingertips are nearly touching. Adam focuses on the tiny space in between, the smallest of gaps that feels like the deepest crevice in the world.

 

“It’s … okay,” Tommy says, quiet and a little slurry from the booze. “It wasn’t. Like … not for the longest time. It was this terrible, huge, thing that you … _did_ to me, you know?”

 

Adam nods, not trusting his voice around the lump in his throat.

 

“But, you know – with the bullshit stuff and the good stuff – you still gotta get out of bed in the morning. Still gotta … keep moving. You know?”

Adam’s heart aches for a moment, because he knows Tommy’s talking about more than their disastrous break-up; that he’s talking about his Dad as well.

 

“Yeah,” he manages to whisper, wanting to reach out and touch, but not daring to; he senses that that first move has to come from Tommy; Adam knows that he still has to be forgiven.

 

“Tommy,” he says then, quiet and almost pleading. He doesn’t know yet what he’s asking for, what he wants; not really. He just knows that it _matters_.

 

“Yeah. I know,” Tommy says, like he’s reading Adam’s mind. He slides his hand closer, until their fingertips are touching.

 

It’s the smallest touch in the world, the slightest press of skin against skin, but it knocks the breath out of Adam’s lungs, and makes him feel like he’s breathing again for the first time in a year.

 

“It’s okay.”


End file.
